


This Kind Nepenthe

by WhyNotFly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Subtype: Sex is boring but can be useful, Consensual eye gouging, Jon and Peter say fuck you beholding, Kissing, M/M, Many-eyed Jon, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Unapologetically romantic jonpeter, Vaginal Fingering, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/pseuds/WhyNotFly
Summary: “Oh I’m sorry,” Jon says, and even with his simple single pair of eyes behind Jon’s head, Peter can hear him rolling all of his.  “I didn’t realize you were the one slowly descending beyond the point of no return into becoming an eldritch fear monstrosity chained inexorably to the man who stole your life from you and plagued byconstant stereoscopic headaches.”“Oh alright, alright.”  Peter is the one who suggested this in the first place, afterall.  An uncharacteristic act of altruism, an olive branch as it were, to extend to his favorite new employee.  Which doubled as a lovely middle finger to Elias who was undoubtedly watching and stewing in his jail cell.  “But let me get you situated first.  I promised you an enjoyable evening.”
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58
Collections: Artefact Storage Monsterloving Event 2020





	This Kind Nepenthe

**Author's Note:**

> The terms used for Jon's equipment are dick, cock, slit, and cunt. If these words will make you uncomfortable, please don't read this!
> 
> Title is from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe cuz I'm edgy like that.

“Aw, Archivist, look.” Peter slips the corner of his thumbnail around the edge of the red-rimmed eye staring up at him. “I think it’s crying.”

“Don’t _tease_ it,” Jon groans and Peter presses his smile up against the shell of Jon’s ear. He does so love Jon reduced to groans. If he truly dedicates himself, he might be able to rob him of that honey voice entirely and have him whimpering on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and slick by the end of the night. It’s nice to have a goal.

“I thought you liked my teasing,” Peter winks over Jon’s shoulder at the big blue eye slit open from the flesh of Jon’s thigh. One of a few dozen of its ilk scattershot up and down his lovely Archivist, most of which he can’t see currently but has had a marvellous time discovering one by one these past few weeks as he tricked each piece of clothing off his sour-faced conquest. _Hard to get_ is usually a play Peter can appreciate, but there is something about Jon that leaves him dreadfully impatient.

Jon squirms impatiently on Peter’s lap which is quite pleasant, and the movement edges the tip of Peter’s finger into ghosting over the soft eyelid on his thigh. “I hate your teasing,” Jon snaps, adorable in his grumpiness. Peter didn’t think a beholder was allowed to tell such a blatant lie. Maybe Jon is closer to his oncoming transition than Peter had dared to hope.

“We have all night.” Peter leans over and kisses the soft skin of Jon’s neck, nudging his nose up towards the tiny, black-slitted eye beneath Jon’s chin. “What’s the rush?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Jon says, and even with his simple single pair of eyes behind Jon’s head, Peter can hear him rolling all of his. “I didn’t realize you were the one slowly descending beyond the point of no return into becoming an eldritch fear monstrosity chained inexorably to the man who stole your life from you and plagued by _constant stereoscopic headaches._ ”

“I do love your dirty talk.”

“ _Peter._ ”

“Oh alright, alright.” Peter is the one who suggested this in the first place, afterall. An uncharacteristic act of altruism, an olive branch as it were, to extend to his favorite new employee. Which doubled as a lovely middle finger to Elias who was undoubtedly watching and stewing in his jail cell. “But let me get you situated first. I promised you an enjoyable evening.”

“I don’t need to enjoy it,” Jon snaps, but despite all his bluster he’s soft and malleable as Peter levers one leg up and then another to divest him of his boxers, and then leans back to let Peter slowly work open the buttons of his dress shirt. As he reaches the last button, Peter slips his fingers just a bit lower to glide them through the telltale wetness already gathering between Jon’s legs.

“Does the idea of being mutilated do it for you?” Peter whispers huskily into Jon’s ear. “Or is it just me?”

“Get over yourself,” Jon hisses back from between clenched teeth. So tense, always so tragically tense. What a shame, to dive this deep into the service of a fear and not even bother to enjoy himself. But Peter is nothing if not a helpful boss, so he works his way back down Jon’s neck with wet, open mouth kisses as he curls one finger into a ball and runs the knuckle up and down Jon’s slit. Feather-light, enough to get the Archivist’s hips stuttering forward to try and steal more. Greedy thing.

“This is supposed to be a distraction, isn’t it? Would you mind actually _trying?_ ” Jon asks, and Peter sighs. He’s always full of criticism, and none of it constructive. A real problem employee. If he’s not careful, that’ll go on his permanent review. 

Peter sneaks another finger down and pinches Jon’s dick hard and his spine goes fully rigid. “Distracting enough for you?”

Jon goes so red that it wraps entirely around the back of his throat and Peter can feel the heat of it through his beard. “W-well that’s not helpful, you didn’t even _do_ anything during it.”

“Patience, my dear Archivist, all things in their time. I don’t intend to break you.”

“I thought the whole point of this evening _was_ to break me.”

“Hmm, only if you beg nicely,” Peter hums and slides one finger up into Jon. He’s tight, the kind of tight Peter assumes can only be achieved by sitting for a year with all your muscles clenched and a sourpuss expression and the biggest killjoy, weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders personality this side of the Thames. Honestly, Jon is about as far from the kind of person Peter should be taken by. They couldn’t be more different. But when Jon was here, laid bare and shivering against his chest, red spilling all across his collarbones and tiny, hot little cunt squeezing Peter’s finger like it couldn’t bear to lose him, Peter didn’t mind so much. 

“I, I _meant,_ ” Jon pants out in an admirable display of self control, “I meant you intend to break off my connection to the Eye.”

Peter chuckles and starts to slowly draw his finger out before pushing it back in. “I can multitask.”

“G-good.” Jon leans back until his head hits Peter’s shoulder. “Because I didn’t agree to this just so you could fondle me.”

“So cruel,” Peter laments as he brings his thumb up to rub gentle circles against Jon’s cock. “You’ll break a poor sea captain’s heart.”

“Mmm.” Jon lifts his hand to cradle the other side of Peter’s face, bringing him close enough to press a kiss into his beard. His breath smells familiar, like tobacco and salt. “I thought you didn’t have a heart to give away.”

“Maybe we can both abandon our patrons tonight,” Peter responds with a smile. “I’ll give you my heart and you give me your eyes and we’ll both dissolve together into seafoam.”

Jon laughs and the slow rocking of his hips jumps with it. Peter’s unoccupied hand grips into the meat of Jon’s thigh, holding him steady. “I didn’t realize there was a romantic under all that fog.”

“A lonely boat lost in the mists on the sea? It’s in every romantic novel there is.”

“You _read_?” Jon struggles to speak as his breath comes faster. Peter thrusts two fingers in and out of him, the movement quick and easy with the arousal dripping out of Jon and pooling in dark circles on Peter’s trousers. “I can’t believe you h-held out on me.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Jonathan.” Peter takes a distinct pleasure at how composed his voice sounds next to the mess he is making of his Archivist, the words barely covering the slick sounds of Jon grinding desperately against Peter’s fingers towards his release. “I don’t intend to hold anything back from you tonight.”

With a tiny sound like a mewl in his throat, Jon goes very still, rigid in Peter’s lap. In that exact moment, Peter drives his thumb nail-first into the pretty blue eye staring up from Jon’s thigh. There is a thin film of resistance and then Peter’s finger bursts through, the runny liquid coating his fingers to match the ones still buried in Jon’s cunt. Jon comes down from his orgasm with a whimper of pain, detaching his hands from where they had gripped into the sleeves of Peter’s coat. Peter pulls his fingers out of the dripping eye socket and wipes the smear of blood off his finger onto Jon’s thigh. It looks a bit like a tally mark, which tickles him. The first of many.

Peter glances over at Jon as he hears his breathing begin to steady out. “Still with me, Archivist?”

“Yes,” Jon groans out, and he really does sound the most lovely when he’s groaning. He arches his back to sit up properly and turn himself around until he’s straddling Peter’s lap in a much more tantalizing way. “But I won’t still be the Archivist for long.”

Peter shakes his head with a dramatic sigh. “Elias wept.”

“I don’t _care_.” Jon rose unsteadily to his knees, balancing himself with a hand on Peter’s shoulder, slick and blood mixing into a shiny mess dripping down his bare thighs. “I don’t belong to him anymore.”

Peter tilts his head back as Jon grasps the dangling edge of his dress shirt and pulls it off, revealing the thin, smooth arch of his bare shoulder. In the center of it, a single, golden eye flicks back and forth, pupil contracting in the sudden light. Peter reaches up and caresses it, running his fingers over the smooth bump of the eyelid, pressing in just a little to feel the give.

“And who do you think you’ll belong to once we’re done?”

Jon’s own dark eyes met Peter’s in dizzying proximity as he leans in to fit their lips together. He tastes old, like dead air and parchment and Peter can’t stop himself from leaning in closer, desperate for more.

“I don’t know,” Jon whispers, his breath hot on Peter’s face. He leans his shoulder in until Peter’s fingers are pressed dangerously tight into the vulnerable curve of the eye in Jon’s shoulder. He can feel it pulsing in time with Jon’s heartbeat. Fast and warm.

“Let’s find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmm nothing like some sexy eye gouging with the man you love <3333
> 
> Many thanks to J Quadrifrons for giving it a pass for me and reassuring me that it was indeed sexy. I'm generally too oblivious to tell myself. If you liked this, you can find me on tumblr [@apatheticbutterflies](https://apatheticbutterflies.tumblr.com/) I love jonpeter (and jonelias I feel like I betrayed my own heart a bit with this fic) and I post lots of weird niche writing! If you like the romantic mutilation, that especially is in my wheelhouse, come and hang out with me :D I'm very friendly.


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